The Book of Doom

T WAS THE T-shirt the boy was wearing that had first caught Zac’s eye. It was white, with yellow print on the front in the style of the Baywatch logo. The text read:



MY LIFEGUARD WALKS ON WATER

And then, underneath, for those struggling to work it out:

(BECAUSE HE’S JESUS)

The rest of Angelo wasn’t much more promising, either. He was a good fifteen to twenty centimetres shorter than Zac, and about half the width across the shoulders. The T-shirt hung loosely from his skinny frame, reaching down almost to his knees.

The knees themselves were on full display, knobbly and ever-so-slightly grass-stained. His legs were also bare, and Zac really hoped the boy was wearing some kind of shorts beneath the trailing shirt.

On his feet, Angelo wore flip-flops with I LOVE MAJORCA printed in jolly lettering across the plastic strap. They were the most violent shade of fluorescent green Zac had ever laid eyes on.

Zac’s gaze went from the feet to Angelo’s face. The boy looked young – eleven or twelve, at a guess – with eyes that seemed cartoonishly large. His hair was blond, like the angels’, but it was a dirty, brownish blond, cut into an uneven bowl shape round his head.

Angelo smiled nervously. “Good King Wenceslas walks into a pizza shop,” he said. His voice was wobbly and unbalanced, as if he were still learning how to use it.

“What?”

“It’s a joke,” Angelo explained. “Good King Wenceslas walks into a pizza shop, and the assistant asks, ‘How do you want your pizza?’ And Good King Wenceslas says, ‘Deep pan, crisp and even.’”

The boy’s huge eyes blinked several times. He watched Zac, waiting for a reaction.

“You know? The song,” he added. He began to sing. “Good King Wenceslas looked out...”

Zac nodded. “Yeah.”

“Deep pan, crisp and even.”

“Yeah.”

There was silence. Somewhere close by, Gabriel coughed gently.

“You don’t get it, do you,” Angelo said. “Deep pan—”

“No, no. I get it,” Zac cut in. He looked back at the archangels. “It’s not too late to change my mind, is it?”

Gabriel smiled his politician-smile and clapped Zac on the shoulder. “Oh, I think you two are going to get along like a house on fire.”

There was no mistaking Angelo’s room. It was like a bricks and mortar version of the boy himself.

The walls were a dull white, but decked out in brightly coloured posters. One picture showed an electric guitar with the words JESUS ROCKS! emblazoned across it in blue writing.

Keeping with the guitar theme, the next poster featured a large, gold-coloured plectrum. I PICK JESUS! was carved into the plectrum’s surface.

There were two or three other posters too, but the one that caught Zac’s eye was a full-length picture of Christ himself. It reminded Zac of a painting he’d stolen once, but this was no painting. It was a photograph.

Jesus was standing in a wheat field, with the sunlight casting a halo behind his head. With one hand he held a lamb, tucked up under his arm. With the other hand he was giving a thumbs up to camera, while flashing a smile so sincere it could’ve shattered concrete at a hundred paces.

“That’s Jesus,” Angelo said. He was sitting on the edge of the room’s narrow bed, his feet swinging a few centimetres off the bare wooden floor. “He’s my hero.”

Zac scanned over the other posters. “So I see.”

“Well, him or the Incredible Hulk. It’s hard to choose,” Angelo said. “I mean, Jesus is the son of God, and sacrificed himself for the sins of all mankind and everything, but the Hulk can punch a tank into outer space. So I don’t know who to pick.”

“Yeah,” replied Zac absent-mindedly, “it’s tricky.”

“I love the Hulk. I mean, I love all superheroes, but the Hulk is the best. Everyone thinks he’s a monster, but he’s not. He’s one of the good guys. He just wants people to stop trying to hurt him. He just wants a friend.” Angelo blushed and squeezed out a bashful smile. “Have you ever read any Hulk comics?”

Zac shook his head. “No. Not lately.”

“I’ve got loads of them here, if you want to borrow them,” Angelo said. “That’s... that’s what friends do, isn’t it? Lend each other stuff.”

“I’m fine, thanks,” Zac said. He strolled over to Angelo’s bookcase. The room was tiny, so it didn’t take long. He cocked his head to the side and studied the shelves. It was mostly Bibles on there, all different shapes and sizes. Down on the bottom shelf, though, were several different versions of Robert Louis Stevenson’s The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, half a dozen superhero graphic novels, and a book full of diagrams of the USS Enterprise. There were also seven different editions of the Star Wars trilogy on DVD, each one only marginally different to the ones before.

“Have you ever met him?” Angelo asked.

“Jesus?”

“The Hulk.”

Zac looked back over his shoulder at Angelo. The boy was still perched on the bed, his huge eyes filled with hopeful expectation.

“No,” Zac said, turning his back on the bookcase. “Never met him.”

“He moves around a lot, that’s probably why,” said Angelo. “If you do ever meet him, whatever you do, don’t make him angry. You wouldn’t like him when he’s angry.”

“Right,” said Zac, with only a momentary pause. “I’ll keep that in mind. You like Jekyll and Hyde too, I see.”

“Not really,” Angelo shrugged. He shifted uneasily. “Gabriel keeps bringing them to me. He thinks it’s good for me to read them, with the whole half-blood thing. He got me into the Hulk to begin with too.”

“Right.” Zac looked around the room again. It was small and windowless, with just one door. There were only the two of them there, and they had only been in the room a few minutes, but already he was beginning to feel claustrophobic.

“So,” he began, looking Angelo up and down again. “Why you?”

Angelo smiled anxiously. “What do you mean?”

“They had you come and wait outside the door. They knew I’d say no to Michael coming with me, so they had you lined up. Why?”

“I don’t...”

“What did they say to you? Why did Michael tell you to wait outside?”

Angelo smiled bashfully. “They said they’d found me a friend. He said we could be friends. You and me. So, um... Can we?”

“No,” said Zac. “We can’t.”

Angelo’s smile stayed fixed, but he looked away from the boy in black. “What? Oh. Right. What? I mean, yes. OK.” He wriggled uncomfortably on his bed. “It’s just, see, I don’t have many friends.”

“I don’t have any. Suits me just fine.” He saw the hurt behind Angelo’s fixed smile and softened slightly. “I mean, look, I’m sure you’re a great kid and everything, but... you’re too young to be my friend. That’s it. Too young. It’d be weird.”

“I’m nearly a thousand years old in human years,” Angelo said curtly.

“Really?” asked Zac after a pause. “You’re bearing up well. What’s that in angel years?”

Angelo scratched his ear. “Um... about twelve.”

“Right,” said Zac. “That’s what I thought.”

There was a rhythmic knock on the door, then the handle turned and the door swung inward. Gabriel stepped through, his smile still frozen in place.

“Apologies for the slight delay. I trust you two have been getting to know each other?” the angel said.

Angelo looked quickly to Zac, then down at his flip-flops. Zac folded his arms across his chest and leaned on the bookcase. Neither of them spoke.

“Splendid,” said Gabriel, not faltering. “Splendid. I have a gift for you, Zac. Put this on.” He held up a cheap-looking digital watch.

Zac took the watch and turned it over in his hands. It was made of flimsy black plastic. He had found a similar watch in a Christmas cracker once, and it had gone straight in the bin.

“What does this do?” he asked.

“It tells the time,” Gabriel replied.

Zac looked at the watch again. “Is that it?”

“No. Angelo has one too. It will allow the two of you to stay in contact if you become separated. It will also allow you to get in touch with us when you have the book. At which point, we’ll be able to retrieve you.”

He watched Zac secure the strap across his wrist. “Splendid. It has other functions too. Angelo will explain.”

“Right,” said Angelo, holding up his wrist and pointing to his own watch. It was identical to the one Zac wore. “You see this button here?”

“Later, Angelo,” Gabriel said with a hint of annoyance. “Explain later. There’s no time now.”

“Oh,” said Angelo, deflated. “Right. Later.”

Gabriel looked down at Zac and lowered his smile a few calculated notches. “Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Zac nodded.

“Very good. We have reason to believe the book is being held by a demon named Haures. A Duke of Hell, no less. We’re informed he’s keeping it in the tenth circle. You will have to find your own way in, I’m afraid.”

“Tenth circle? I thought there were only supposed to be nine circles of Hell.”

Gabriel’s eyebrows knotted above his nose. “Yes. So did we. I have no idea what you will find waiting there, but I do know that if you fail, then everything – the very existence of the cosmos itself – will be in grave peril. The book is the ultimate weapon, Zac. Do not forget that.”

“No pressure, then.”

The angel smiled thinly. “Quite.” He stepped aside. Angelo hopped down off the bed and stood next to Zac. He pulled his long T-shirt up and tucked it untidily into the white shorts that Zac was relieved to see he was wearing beneath it. Then he held out a hand. Zac peered at it.

“You have to hold my hand,” Angelo said. “Or it won’t work.”

Zac sighed, rolled his eyes, then locked his fingers with Angelo’s. Gabriel gave a single nod.

“Peace be with you,” he said.

“Peace be with you,” replied Angelo automatically.

“Oh, and rest assured, Zac, I shall ensure your grandfather is well looked after in your absence.”

Zac felt his muscles tense. His grip on Angelo’s hand tightened, making the boy gasp.

“Right. Whatever,” he growled. “Can we just—”

There was a blip of light, like the flash of a camera. Zac’s stomach heaved, as if he were looping the loop on a roller coaster, and then everything was plunged into sudden darkness.





E WAS STILL in the dark, even after the world stopped lurching. He was lying on an uneven surface, his legs twisted at awkward angles. Somewhere above him, he could hear breathing, and he realised he was still holding Angelo’s hand.

“Are we there?” he asked quietly. “Are we in Hell?”

“Um, no, not yet,” Angelo replied. “Not unless I’ve really messed up. I’ve just jumped your soul back into your body.”

Zac pulled his hand free and felt around on the floor beneath him. Shoes. He was sitting on shoes.

“The cupboard,” he said. “We’re in my cupboard.”

He untwisted his legs and kicked open the door, revealing his bedroom. The curtains were still closed and the bookcase was still in front of the door, but there was no sign of the Monk anywhere.

Zac stood and looked down at his stomach. A round hole had been torn through his T-shirt. He reached round and felt his back. There was another hole there, slightly larger than the one on the front.

The material round both holes was slick with blood, but his body itself was gunshot-wound free.

“So... what? I’m alive?”

“Sort of. I mean, no, not properly,” Angelo said. “Your soul’s just temporarily back in your body. So you’re not alive, but you’re not dead, either. I suppose you’re sort of like a zombie.” He held his arms out in front of him and groaned. “Uuuuh. Braaaains!”

“Stop that.”

“Braaaaaaains!”

“Cut it out!”

Angelo lowered his arms. “Anyway, you can still be hurt, and your body can still be destroyed, so be careful.” He stepped past Zac and stood in the middle of the room, turning slowly on the spot as he looked around. “Is this your bedroom?”

“What? Yeah,” replied Zac absent-mindedly. He was looking at a rectangle of card that had been pinned to his T-shirt. The card was black with white writing that read:

YOU WERE KILLED BY THE MONK.





THANK YOU FOR YOUR BUSINESS.

Beneath that was a phone number. Zac ripped the card in half before dropping it into his wastepaper bin.

“Where are your posters?” asked Angelo.

“I don’t have posters,” Zac answered.

“Why don’t you have any posters?”

“I just don’t.”

Zac pulled off the long-sleeved T-shirt and tossed it into the corner of the room. Then he crossed to his chest of drawers, pulled out another identical piece of clothing, and slipped it on.

“Posters help cheer up a room,” Angelo continued. “Your room doesn’t look very cheerful. It’s gloomy. It’s a gloomy roomy.” He laughed. “Gloomy roomy. I bet it’s not easy to say that five times fast.”

“What are—?”

“Gloomyroomy gloomyroomy gloomyroomy gloomyroomy gloomyroomy,” Angelo blurted. “Oh no, it is quite easy, actually.” He looked around the room. “Anyway, you should definitely get some posters.”

“Will you stop going on about the posters?” Zac sighed. “I don’t like them, OK? They’re childish.”

“Gee whizz, OK. I was only saying,” Angelo mumbled. His eyes fell on the bookcase, which Zac was now shoving out of the way of the door. “Got any Hulk comics? Or are they childish as well?”

“No, I don’t, and yes, they are,” Zac said. “I’m going to make sure my granddad’s OK. Wait here.”

“Why do I have to—?”

“Just... just wait here, OK?”

Angelo opened his mouth, closed it again, then sat down on the bed. “I’ll wait here,” he said. “But don’t be long. I get panic attacks.”

“Surprise, surprise,” muttered Zac, as he left the bedroom and pulled the door closed behind him.

He met his grandfather halfway down the stairs. Phillip was walking up slowly, an iron poker held in his withered hands.

“Oh, you’re all right,” the old man said, visibly relieved. He lowered the poker to his side. “I heard a bang; what was that bang?”

“When?” asked Zac.

“A few seconds ago. Loud, it was. BANG! Like a gunshot.”

A few seconds? Zac thought. So, he must’ve come back just moments after the Monk had shot him.

“Didn’t hear anything,” Zac said. “Maybe it was something outside. Come on, let’s go downstairs.”

“Are you sure you didn’t hear anything?” Phillip asked, allowing himself to be led back down into the hall. “Because it sounded like a gunshot...”

“Car backfiring, probably,” Zac said with a practised shrug. “Nothing to worry about.”

They reached the bottom of the stairs and Zac ushered his granddad through into the sitting room. It was a mess of mismatched furniture that had been accumulated over decades, with no attempt made to tie any of it together.

“Sit down, Granddad, I need to talk to you,” Zac said. He took a seat on a red-and-green floral patterned sofa, while Phillip creaked down into a beige armchair.

“What is it, Zac? Is... is something wrong?”

Another voice spoke before Zac could. “Sorry. I had to come down.”

Zac and his grandfather looked over at the door. Angelo stood there, chewing on a fingernail and bouncing uncomfortably from foot to foot.

“I told you to wait,” Zac said.

“I know, but, well... I think I need the toilet.”

“You think you need the toilet?”

Angelo nodded. “Yes. But I’m not sure. I’ve never needed the toilet before. It must be to do with being on Earth.” His hopping became more frantic. “Yep, I’m almost sure I need the toilet.”

“Well go, then!”

There was a pause. Angelo stopped hopping. Zac watched in slowly dawning horror as Angelo’s white shorts turned slightly yellow at the crotch.

“Wow. That helped a lot,” Angelo said. “That’s much more comfortable. Thanks!”

Zac got to his feet. “I didn’t mean go right there! I meant go to...” He saw only puzzlement on Angelo’s face. “I meant go to the bathroom, not wet yourself.”

“Oh.”

Zac sighed. “Jesus.”

“Where?” asked Angelo, his eyes widening with excitement.

“No, not... not...” Zac pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look, never mind, just go back upstairs and we’ll find you more clothes.”

“OK,” said Angelo brightly. He moved to leave, then hesitated. “Oh, by the way, your goldfish is going crazy.”

“Yes. It does that.”

“Hello,” said Phillip, who had been trying to follow the conversation that had just taken place, but failing miserably. “Are you Penelope?”

“No. I’m Angelo.”

Phillip looked disappointed. “Oh. I thought you were Penelope. She’s been banging on at me all night, telling me her cat’s sick, but what’s that got to do with me? What do I know about cats? Nothing. Hear that, Penelope?” he said, raising his voice. “I don’t know the first thing about cats.”

“OK, then!” said Angelo, shooting Zac a glance. “I’ll just go and get changed. Nice meeting you, sir.”

“Nice meeting you too, Angelo,” Phillip replied. He waited until the boy had left the room, before adding: “He seems nice. Who is he?”

“No one,” said Zac hurriedly. “He’s just... a friend.”

“I heard that,” came a voice from the hallway. They listened to Angelo beatboxing happily all the way back upstairs.

“A friend, eh? That’s good. I always thought you should have more friends,” said Phillip. “Or, you know, one, at least.”

“Yeah, well. He’s more a colleague, actually,” Zac corrected. “But listen, Granddad, I need to talk to you.”

“You’re going away, aren’t you.”

“How did you...?” Zac began, then he nodded. “Just for a little while.”

“Is it dangerous?”

“What?” He forced a laugh. “No, why would it be—”

“Come on, Zacharias. I’m an old man, not an idiot. I know you didn’t pay for this house working in a hamburger shop. You think I don’t hear you sneak in and out every night? You think I don’t notice your cuts? Your bruises?”

Zac stayed silent. He was used to seeing a fog behind his grandfather’s eyes, but that fog had lifted now. He’d never noticed how blue the old man’s irises were before.

“I don’t know what you do out there, and I don’t ask. You’re young, but you’re a man now, Zac. You make your own decisions, and I don’t pry. I don’t pry, I let you make your own choices, don’t I?”

Zac nodded.

“So, I’m going to ask you again, and I want you to tell me the truth. Wherever you’re going, whatever you’re doing – is it dangerous?”

A pause... a brief one... then, “Yes.”

Phillip gave a single nod, like the answer had confirmed what he already knew. “And do you have to go?”

“Yes.”

The old man leaned back in his chair and looked towards the corner of the room, as if seeing some Autocue there telling him what to say next. “I’d rather you didn’t,” he said at last. “But you know me, I’m a big believer in free will, and I won’t try to stop you if you think it’s something you have to do.”

“It is,” Zac said, realising that he hadn’t given his grandfather anything like the credit he’d deserved over the years. “But I’ll be back, I promise.”

Phillip tore his gaze from the corner and looked back at Zac. Tears swam in those piercing blue eyes. “I hope so.”

“Will you be OK?”

“I’ve lived a long time, Zac,” Phillip replied. He stood up and motioned for Zac to do the same. “I think I can cope on my own for a little while. When do you leave?”

“Um, well...”

“Now?”

“Pretty much.”

Phillip stepped forward and wrapped his arms round his grandson. Zac returned the hug and tried to control the shake he could feel taking hold of his limbs.

“Be careful,” Phillip said. “And if you ever need me, just shout.”

Zac smiled and hugged a little bit harder. “I will, Granddad. I will.”

“I think your grandfather might be a total nutjob,” said Angelo as Zac returned to the bedroom. “No offence.”

“Watch your mouth,” Zac snapped, shooting the boy a glare. “He isn’t a nutjob. He just... hears voices sometimes.”

“I wasn’t talking about that,” said Angelo. “I read his aura and it was all jumbled up. All different colours, swirling together. I’ve never seen one like that.”

“I don’t believe in auras,” Zac said. He pulled open his wardrobe and began rummaging inside. “I don’t believe in tarot cards or healing crystals or the power of prayer, or any of that stuff. And my granddad is not a nutjob.”

“You don’t believe in crystals?” scoffed Angelo. “Next you’ll be telling me you don’t believe in star signs.” He watched Zac’s face. “You don’t believe in star signs?” he gasped. “You’re so cynical. I bet you’re a Scorpio, aren’t you?”

“I have no idea.”

“When’s your birthday?”

“Look, here.” Zac tossed a bundle of black fabric to Angelo, who fumbled clumsily, then dropped the pile on the floor.

“What’s this?” Angelo asked, bending to retrieve the garments.

“Clothes. Put them on.”

“But I’ve got clothes,” Angelo said. He pointed to his lifeguard T-shirt. “See? Exhibit A.”

“OK: one – you look ridiculous,” Zac told him. “And two – you’ve wet yourself. Either one of those would be reason enough to change. Pick your favourite.”

Zac turned his back as Angelo reluctantly changed into the black outfit.

“No looking.”

“Just hurry up,” Zac said. He listened to the sound of zips being undone and the clothes being pulled on. “So, you can just teleport us into Hell, right?”

There was a momentary pause. “Yeah. Course. No problemo. I’m ready now – you can turn around.”

“Right, so we should get going and—” began Zac as he turned back to Angelo. He stopped when he saw the clothes. “What... what have you done to them?”

“It’s not my fault,” Angelo said defensively. “I’m part angel. Angels can’t wear black.”

The clothes, which had been the very definition of black, were now a faint grey. As Zac watched, even the grey began to disappear. It sank in a swirling vortex pattern towards the bottom of the trousers, like murky water trickling down a drain.

Zac looked down and saw black dye dripping on to his bedroom carpet. When he looked up again, the clothes were a shade of white usually reserved for washing-powder adverts.

“I can do white or yellow,” explained Angelo sheepishly. “Light blue at a push.” He glanced at his feet. “Sorry about your carpet. If you get me a cloth, I’ll clean it up.”

“Forget it, it’s fine,” said Zac.

“Are you sure? Maybe I could just...” He rubbed the wet stain with a bare foot. “Oh no, that’s just made it worse if anything.”

“I said leave it, it’s fine. We’ve got more important things to worry about.”

Angelo blinked. “Have we?”

Zac stared.

“Yeah, yeah, right. Of course. I forgot,” Angelo said. He slipped his flip-flops back on. “How do I look?”

“You look –” Zac hunted for something complimentary to say – “marginally less ridiculous,” was the best he could do in the circumstances.

“Really?” said Angelo brightly. “You’re not just saying that?”

“No, you look... good,” Zac said, but that last word came out much higher than he’d intended. “So, are you ready to do this?”

“Before we go, I should warn you. Watch out for the demons. They’re horrible. And I mean really horrible.”

“Seriously?” said Zac. “And here I thought they were going to be a right old barrel of laughs.”

“Well, you’d be wrong,” said Angelo with absolute sincerity. “So it’s lucky you’ve got me to keep you right.”

“Oh, yes. I’m a lucky guy,” Zac said. “Now, you ready?”

Angelo took a few quick breaths. He held out his hand. “I’m ready.”

“Then let’s do it.” Zac slipped his hand into the boy’s.

Angelo grinned nervously. “Here we go, then. Bowels of Hell, here we come!”